Grandfather burned up to ash
And returned to the earth.
Which he spawned
This nefarious prank
That’s controlled by the length
Of his arms.
And the kindred is gathered
By coffin and chaplain,
On his behalf.
And a discreet tender man
Clears his throat,
Waves his hand,
Following a laugh.
And the band plays on.

Like a fat baby’s birth,
Like a cry and a curse
At the breathing space,
While the mother rejoices
Ten fingers, ten toes
And a handsome face.
And the family is gasping.
Each one can’t help asking,
“How was it, my dear?”
Like a scorn for the one
That was torn and deformed
For the next cruel years.
And the band plays on.

So I’ll cut you all open.
I'll see what’s inside you
Or what’s missing.
While this virgin,
Your daughter,
Skirt down in the altar-
She don’t owe you a God damn thing,
'Cause she’s gorgeous.
I’ll take her to
The house by the lake,
Where I'll write her a song.
While you fat pigs with call-girls:
They dance in the ballrooms
Shaking their wallets at God.
And the notes fill the pages
As I scramble to paste up
My bleeding heart.
And this sick song moves on,
If you’re lucky lifelong,
You can sing a part.
As it falls apart.